


a scent holds a memory gently

by kotaface (aveyune23)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: (very small I promise), Baking, Cloti Secret Santa 2020, Cloud 'I'll be home for Midwinter' Strife, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff so fluffy it'll make you tear up, Post-Advent Children (Compilation of FFVII), Romance, Scent Memories, Surprise Gifts, Winter weather provides a tiny sprinkle of angst, gift exchange fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface
Summary: It was a week before Midwinter when Cloud found the spice shop.An unexpected memory, an impulsive purchase, and an old tradition made new.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 25
Kudos: 70





	a scent holds a memory gently

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superpunchygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superpunchygirl/gifts).



> A Cloti Secret Santa gift for **Super Punchy Girl** , featuring their prompts _heartwarming reunion, hot cocoa,_ and _baking._ Thank you so much for these wonderful prompts. I've been wanting to write a Cloti fic that involved baking somehow and you gave me such an excellent reason to do so. I wish you (and everyone else in the fandom) the happiest of holidays.
> 
> Title was inspired by [this poem.](https://vocal.media/poets/smell-a-memory)

It was a week before Midwinter when Cloud found the spice shop.

It wasn’t the first time that he’d delivered things to this particular village within the rainforests of the Western Continent. It _was,_ however, the first time that he’d stopped long enough to eat something, and that had led to him sitting at the bar counter with the shop-keeper as company.

“Company” was a loose term; Cloud was just trying to eat enough to keep from laying down Fenrir on the way back to Costa del Sol and then home, but the shop-keeper was usually the person Cloud handed his deliveries to, and so the old man considered them friends. He rambled on about the newest building in the village while Cloud tore through three sandwiches in record time, grunting when necessary to show that he was listening. When the last bite was gone, he stood and dropped gil on the counter then nodded goodbye; it was right before he stepped outside that he noticed a smell straight from his memories.

 _Cinnamon._ It was the only name he knew, but he recognized the others — scents remembered from his childhood, from his mom’s kitchen. Cloud turned and saw the shop-keeper’s wife hand a kerchief-wrapped loaf of something to a woman standing on the shop-side of the room. When the woman passed by him to leave, more memories bubbled up in his mind — a _long, cold night with his mom in the kitchen, watching as she stirred dark batter with a wooden spoon; the heat of the oven filling their house with warmth and the scent of spices; the moment of truth when the cake was cooled enough to flip it out of its domed pan, would it stick or come out clean?_

“Where did you get it?”

The woman blinked at him, then pointed to the shop-keeper’s wife. Cloud cleared his throat.

“Sorry. Um—” He looked at the shop-keeper’s wife. “I meant the cinnamon. Where did you get it?”

“Oh!” she said, while the woman with the cake giggled and slipped out the door. Embarrassment burned his cheeks, but Cloud stepped back up to the counter to listen.

“I get all my spices from Mr. Nikluss. It used to be he was just a traveler, like yourself. He’s settled down in our village and set up a shop since last you were here. He sells all kinds of herbs and spices and things.”

“Where—?”

“Just down the street, on the left.”

“Thanks,” he said with a nod, then walked out.

The spice shop was a small building made of corrugated metal sheets and raw wood beams, obviously still very new. A sign next to the door said “Spices,” as if anyone would need confirmation; walking within twelve feet of the place was like walking face-first into a brick wall of competing scents. Inside, it wasn’t as terrible. It smelled familiar, like his mom’s kitchen. Like Tifa’s kitchen, too. The shop itself was chaotic — sagging shelves packed with jars and tins, baskets overflowing with things wrapped in gauze or plastic, a few barrels full of powders and seeds with scoops hanging off of them. The clutter was more overwhelming than the smell, but Cloud stepped carefully around the mess towards the counter at the back. Mr. Nikluss was nowhere in sight. A bell on the counter said “ring for assistance.” Cloud tapped it once, then waited.

No one showed up right away, but before he could ring it again, a hunched old man with a bushy white beard appeared from the doorway behind the counter. He looked even older than the shop-keeper, and that was saying something. 

“What can I help you with today?”

Truth be told, Cloud didn’t actually know. He’d just gotten a feeling when he smelled the cinnamon from the shop-keeper’s wife’s cake. It’s not like there was a plan attached to it. When he thought about it, though, maybe there could be.

He had no clue where to start, but he tried anyway.

“Um, I was wondering if you had spices for cakes.” It was a dumb question with an obvious answer that Cloud already knew, but thankfully Mr. Nikluss was kind about it.

“Oh, yes, we have many baking spices. What kind of cake will you be baking?”

Again, Cloud had no idea. He didn’t even know if the cake his mom used to bake at Midwinter had a name. It was just ‘ _Midwinter cake._ ’ Tifa would know. Everyone in Nibelheim made it on the longest night.

The feeling morphed into a fully-formed plan just like that. Midwinter was in a week. It would be their first one as a family. Tifa was already planning dinner for that night. She acted like it wasn’t going to be anything special, but Cloud knew that she had been setting gil aside for the last month to buy ingredients they didn’t usually buy. Was a Midwinter cake on her list? She’d never made anything like that for them before.

“A spice cake,” Cloud said, feeling a little more confident than before. “I don’t know everything that’s in it. Cinnamon, but other stuff, too. Um—” His hand went to the back of his neck as the confidence suddenly drained. “I don’t know, but it’s really dark and... spicy.”

Mr. Nikluss didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. He stroked his beard, thinking, then nodded sagely and turned around to the glass jars on the shelves behind the counter. After muttering to himself and tapping a few of the jars, he chose three and pulled them down to set them in front of Cloud.

The first jar he opened was full of something Cloud actually recognized: cinnamon sticks. Except they didn’t look exactly the same as the ones he knew. Instead of a thick curl of dark-brown bark, these sticks were lighter and more delicate, with lots of paper-thin layers. As soon as Mr. Nikluss opened the lid, the scent of them cut through the haze of all the other spices in the shop, but it wasn’t the pungent kick he’d expected; it was softer somehow, more fragrant.

“Mideel cinnamon,” Mr. Nikluss explained, as if he could sense Cloud’s confusion. “Not as potent as the cinnamon from the groves of Costa del Sol, but far more flavorful. Excellent for baking.”

“How much?”

Mr. Nikluss capped the jar. “70 gil.”

Cloud started. “I’m sorry?”

“70 gil for a one-ounce bundle,” the old man repeated. “This is the finest cinnamon in Gaia, after all.”

Cloud narrowed his eyes, then gestured at the other jars. “What about those?”

Mr. Nikluss tapped his brow and grinned, not at all deterred by Cloud’s lack of response about the cost. “The others are your unknown ingredients.” He lifted the lids from both jars. One contained what looked like kupo nuts, and the other was full of small, reddish-brown spikes.

“Nutmeg,” he said, “and cloves, from the Ancient Forest.” Mr. Nikluss reached into the jar of nuts and handed one to Cloud, who took a tentative sniff. The spikes — cloves — were strong enough to reach his nose from where he stood. Both of them matched the scent of the Midwinter cakes he remembered. It must have shown on his face, because the old man grinned at him.

“I see I was correct! Now tell me, how much will you be buying?”

Cloud glared and dropped the nutmeg back into its jar.

“Not so fast. I need to think about it.”

Mr. Nikluss stroked his beard again. “Hmm. If you say so. I’ll just wait, then.” And he pulled a stool over to the counter and sat down.

Cloud took a deep breath. Annoying son of a—

“I’ll be right back,” he grumbled, then carefully made his way back to the door and stepped outside.

Fenrir was parked in front of the village shop. Cloud grabbed his PHS from its spot on the crossbar, then leaned against the seat to think.

It was simple enough. Cloud wanted to buy the spices. He wanted to surprise Tifa with the ingredients. She liked it when he did that. Her whole face lit up any time he brought home some unnamed vegetable or fruit from his delivery trips. There wasn’t anything stopping him — it wasn’t like he didn’t have the money, and he didn’t need permission, either. It was just that Tifa baked things all the time, and she might already have these spices. Therein lay the problem: Tifa liked it when he surprised her with small things like ingredients, but she _wasn’t_ so keen on impractical gifts. Why buy what they didn’t need? If she already had cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves in the kitchen at home, she wouldn’t appreciate him spending gil on more. Especially _that_ _much_ gil.

Cloud couldn’t put a finger on why he felt so strongly about it. Maybe it was because Midwinter was supposed to be special. He’d never cared before, but things were different now. _He_ was different. He had a family, and Midwinter was supposed to be spent with your family. And maybe it was the memory of his mom, too, and what the holiday meant to him as a kid and how happy she always seemed when she baked a Midwinter cake.

He wanted Tifa to be that happy. It would look beautiful on her.

Cloud flipped open his PHS and dialed Seventh Heaven.

 _“Cloud!”_ It was Denzel that picked up. _“Are you on your way home?”_

Up until a few months ago, the boy’s voice would have been anxiety-soaked and eager. Now, his tone was just curious. Cloud’s heart did a weird flip like it always did when he was reminded that they no longer questioned if he would come home.

“Almost. Is Tifa around?”

_“She’s in the bar with some customers. Do you want me to get her?”_

“No. I need a favor. And you can’t tell Tifa, ok?”

_“Um, okay...”_

“It’s for Midwinter,” he added quickly. Secrets were rocky ground for all of them.

Denzel’s voice perked up. _“What is it?”_

Cloud chuckled. “I need you to check something for me.” He listed off the ingredients and waited while Denzel went to check the pantry. It should have taken him a minute or two at most; after five had passed, Cloud started to worry. He was about to hang up and buy the spices anyway, pantry be damned, when Denzel got back on the line.

At least it was supposed to be Denzel. Marlene spoke instead.

_“Cloud, Denzel said you’re doing something secret but he won’t tell me what.”_

Cloud winced at how loud she sounded. In the background, he could hear Denzel grabbing for the phone and trying to shush her. Shit.

“Marlene, listen. I want to get Tifa something for Midwinter but it has to be a surprise. Will you help?”

 _“Oh Cloud that’s so sweet!”_ she squealed, and both he and Denzel shushed her again. She lowered her voice. _“Sorry. I want to help, too. What are you getting her?”_

Cloud sighed in relief. “Put Denzel back on. Make sure Tifa doesn’t catch you.”

_“Okay.”_

The signal went in and out, and then Denzel said, _“Hi Cloud. Sorry, she just—”_

“Never mind that. Did you find what I asked about?”

_“Just a jar of cinnamon, but there’s not much in it.”_

“And the other two?”

_“Nuh-uh. Not that I could see.”_

“Thanks, Denzel. Tell Marlene I said thanks, too. Make sure you keep it a secret.”

_“We will.”_

“Good. I’ll see you in a few days.”

_“Okay. Bye.”_

Cloud shut his phone and took a deep breath.

Mr. Nikluss hadn’t moved a muscle. His craggy face split in a wide grin when Cloud walked back into the shop.

“Made up your mind?” he called as he hopped off the stool. He ignored Cloud’s glare and rubbed his hands together, grinning like an imp. Cloud noticed that the jars of spices had been put back on the shelf.

“I have,” he said. “I’ll take—”

The old man produced a wrapped parcel from beneath the counter. “An ounce of the finest Mideel cinnamon quills, two whole nutmegs, and an ounce of whole cloves from the Ancient Forest,” he said with a flourish, and placed it in front of Cloud. “Everything you need to make a perfect Midwinter spice cake.”

Cloud’s mouth fell open. _How did he—?_ But Mr. Nikluss just grinned at him, a twinkle in his rheumy eyes, and tapped his brow again, as if to say _I know more than you think._

“How much?”

“200 gil total.”

His jaw clenched, but Cloud fished the bills from his pocket. Before he could set them on the counter, though, Mr. Nikluss cut him off.

“For one who has done so much good for others, however…” His grin softened into a gentle smile. “It is a gift.” The old man slid the parcel across the counter, bowing his head as he did so. Stunned, Cloud put the money back in his pocket.

“I don’t understand.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Nikluss said, keeping his head bowed. “To you and your friends.”

Heat rose in his cheeks. An argument was on the tip of his tongue, the usual “I didn’t do anything special” ready to spill out, but Cloud kept it in. Despite everything he and Tifa and the others had done to save the Planet, they had remained relatively anonymous after all was said and done. There was no way this traveling spice salesman could know about Cloud’s role in all that. He probably just meant the delivery service. But then why mention his friends?

The old man was obviously more than he seemed. It wasn’t a mystery Cloud felt like solving right now.

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head as he took the parcel. Mr. Nikluss straightened.

“Blessed Midwinter to you, Mr. Strife. I hope to see you again in the new year.”

“Uh — you, too,” he replied lamely, but the old man had already disappeared through the door behind the counter.

* * *

_connecting call... connecting call..._

_Connected._

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, it’s me.”

_“How are you? Are you on your way home?”_

“Almost. I’m finished with all the orders on the Western Continent. I’m heading back to Costa del Sol now.”

_“How many more after that?”_

“I’m picking up a few more at the port. The usual stops. Junon, Fort Condor, Kalm.”

_“Then home?”_

“Then home.”

_“Alright.”_

“How are the kids?”

_“They’re fine. They’re acting kind of strange, though.”_

“Huh. Really?”

_“Yeah.”_

“How so?”

_“I can’t really put my finger on it. They’re being too sweet. I think they’re up to something.”_

“Last ditch effort to be good before Midwinter?”

_“Maybe. Who knows. You... you’ll be home by then, right?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Okay. Be careful.”_

“You know I always am.”

_“I know...”_

“...what?”

_“Oh, they’re calling for bad weather in Edge in a few days. It might hit before you get home.”_

“I’ll be home, Tifa.”

_“I know. Just be careful.”_

“I promise.”

_“Mm. Alright. Thank you.”_

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

_“Okay.”_

“...I miss you.”

_“I miss you, too, Cloud.”_

“Bye.”

_“Bye. Drive safe.”_

_Call has ended._

* * *

On the morning of Midwinter’s Day, a blizzard struck the Midgar Area.

Cloud had just rolled into Kalm when the first snowflakes fell. By the time he’d finished with his deliveries, it had begun to form drifts on the sides of the streets. Still determined to get home before dinner, he pulled on the cold-weather gear he kept in Fenrir’s side compartments, then called Tifa.

_“Cloud! Are you alright?”_

“I’m fine. I’m leaving Kalm and heading home.”

 _“In this weather?”_ She sounded anxious. _“No, stay at the Inn. Or with Elmyra. It’s not safe.”_

“Teef, it’s just snow.” He’d driven in a lot worse.

_“Cloud.”_

“I put Fire materia in the slots on the tire chains I got at Icicle Inn. It’ll melt any ice on the road.”

_“Cloud.”_

“I’ll be home in a few hours.”

_“I’d rather you be safe.”_

Cloud wiped a hand over his face. “I said I’d be home for Midwinter, Tifa,” he said quietly. “I promised the kids.”

He could hear her sigh on the other end. _“I know. But we would all rather you come home in one piece. Preferably not as an icicle.”_ From the change in her tone, it sounded like the kids were nearby. She didn’t want them to worry.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted. And it wasn’t — as long as you had mako-enhanced SOLDIER vision to see through the haze. But Tifa didn’t need to know that.

_“Cloud...”_

“I’ll wait another hour. If it clears up, I’ll leave. If it doesn’t... I’ll get a room here.”

Her relief was palpable even through the phone. _“Okay. Just keep me updated.”_

“I will. Bye.”

_“Bye.”_

Cloud tucked the PHS into the inner pocket of his jacket and zipped it up to his chin, then tugged his helmet on. The only time he ever wore it was in cold weather, when the wind was sharp enough to give him frostbite on his face; looking at the heavy gray sky, it was clear he was going to need the helmet and every other inch of insulated leather he had and then some to stay warm on the ride home.

Because Cloud _was_ going home. He’d promised the kids he would be there for Midwinter. Tifa had planned a dinner for tonight. And he had a gift for her, wrapped in brown paper and twine, that she had to open before the night got too dark.

After one last check to make sure Fenrir was road-ready, Cloud kicked the ignition and headed home.

* * *

Tifa stared at the roast through the window of the oven door for as long as she could without blinking. It was like a game. The more time she could spend watching dinner as it cooked, the less time she spent watching the clock.

Cloud had called and said that the snow had cleared up around Kalm. He was coming home. It took three hours to travel from Kalm to Edge by motorcycle on a clear day.

That was three hours and forty minutes ago, last she had checked. Cloud still wasn’t home.

Her eyes slid away from the oven to the window at the back of the kitchen. The snow was coming down too thick to see anything, and the wind howled through the alley. Her heart slammed against her ribs over and over and over, but she didn’t dare look at the clock yet. She was too nervous to face it.

“Tifa?”

She jumped. Marlene and Denzel stood in the door of the kitchen, concern clear on their faces.

“Are you okay?” Marlene asked.

Tifa nodded. “Yeah. Just... zoned out a bit, I guess.”

“Don’t worry,” said Denzel. “Cloud will be home soon.” He paused, and a glance passed between him and Marlene before he said, “He has a surprise for you.”

Tifa tilted her head in confusion. “A surprise? What do you mean?”

“For Midwinter!” Marlene chimed. “But it’s a secret so we can’t tell you anymore than that.”

“Oh. Okay.” She shook her head, then stood and stretched. “Is that why you two have been acting so strange? Holding on to Cloud’s secret?”

They both nodded happily.

“Can we have hot cocoa?” Denzel asked.

“Before dinner?” Tifa clucked her tongue at him. “You know better.”

“But it's Midwinter!” Marlene giggled.

Tifa rolled her eyes. “Alright. Fine.” At least it would distract her from watching the clock. “Go to the storeroom and get the cocoa, I’ll get the milk going.”

“Okay!”

They both darted around the corner. Pulling down a saucepan, Tifa filled it with milk and set it on the stove over a low flame, then leaned back against the opposite counter to wait. She could hear giggling coming from down the hall. Their excitement made a small dent in the fog of anxiety wrapped around her, but it didn’t last long. Her fingers tapped against her thigh; she clenched her fist and then crossed her arms to keep from fidgeting. It was only when the milk began to steam that she realized the kids hadn’t come back with the cocoa. She frowned.

“Marlene?” she called. “Denzel?” They didn’t respond, and irritation flickered to life unbidden.

“I put the cocoa on the middle shelf, can you not find it?”

The answer to that was more giggling, though it was stifled and interspersed with the two of them shushing each other.

There was no reason for her to get upset. Or, at least, that’s what she told herself. Cloud had come home late plenty of times. He had called ahead and let them know. He would be home, that was what mattered. But Tifa had never seen it snow like this in the Midgar Area before. What if Cloud was stuck on the road? What if he was hurt? He had probably left Kalm before it was really safe enough to do so. _What if what if what if—?_

The anxiety latched itself onto Denzel and Marlene’s strange behavior. They knew they weren’t supposed to play around in the storeroom. And she had put the tin of hot cocoa mix at their eye-level so that they would be able to find it as soon as they stepped inside. So what were they doing, whispering and giggling while a pan of milk threatened to burn on the stove?

“Denzel! Marlene!” Tifa stormed towards the storeroom, her pulse racing. “You two know you’re not supposed to play in there—!”

She froze mid-step in front of the door to the garage. Denzel and Marlene stood inside, next to a parked Fenrir. Tifa blinked, not believing what she saw. She would have heard that bike from a block away. She would have heard him pull in. But when she opened her eyes, the bike was still there, the Fire materia slotted into the chains on its tires still glowing red-hot. Her mouth fell open.

“What—?”

Denzel and Marlene were bouncing on their toes, grinning from ear to ear. She was about to step into the garage when she felt a chill against her back.

No. Not a chill. A _icicle_.

Tifa spun around. Cloud stood in the doorway of the storeroom, his riding gear slick with snow and ice. His hair was plastered to the sides of his face with half-frozen sweat, and he was shivering, too, but for a brief and impossibly long moment, all Tifa saw was the grin that cut across his bright-red face.

“Cloud?”

“Told you I’d be home,” he said. His teeth chattered a bit.

Tifa launched herself at him, but immediately recoiled with a shriek.

_“You’re freezing!”_

He held onto her though, kept her close against him even as she struggled and screeched and beat at his leathers. “I know,” he whispered as he tried to burrow into her neck, which only made Tifa struggle harder. “You could warm me up.”

The contrast of the sudden flush on her skin against his freezing body was too much. That, and the emphatic “EW” from Marlene, gave her enough strength to shove him away.

“What are you doing here?” she panted. “How did you—?”

Cloud looked sheepish. “I had to walk Fenrir down the alley. Too much snow.”

Tifa briefly considered lecturing him about driving home in a blizzard and how unnecessary it had been, but her relief at seeing him again was too strong.

“We should get you warmed up,” she told him, unable to stop smiling. “You’re making a puddle.”

Cloud looked down at the pool of melted snow he was standing in and huffed a laugh. “I might need some help. My fingers are frozen stiff.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Cloud...”

His smile dropped into a frown. “Is something burning?”

Tifa’s nostrils flared. “The milk!” she gasped, and bolted back to the kitchen to turn off the burner.

“Sorry Denzel, Marlene,” she said once the kids and Cloud came around the corner. “I’ll have to start this over. Why don’t you get Cloud some towels and run him a bath, yeah?”

“Okay!” they chimed in unison, then took off up the stairs. Cloud shook his head.

“Let me grab my kit from Fenrir and I’ll go up.”

Tifa caught his arm. “Leave it for later. You need to change or you’ll get hypothermia.”

But he just smiled at her, and Tifa thought she saw a glint of humor in his eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek before he walked back to the garage, making her yelp. Tifa shivered, but she was smiling from ear to ear. As she cleaned the saucepan, she hummed the tune to her favorite Midwinter’s Eve song and listened for the bath to start running upstairs. She’d put another pan of milk on the stove _after_ Cloud was cleaned up. No sense in wasting more of it.

“Go on upstairs,” she told him as he came back from the garage. “I’ll grab your clothes in a min— oh!”

Cloud had come up behind her and put a hand on her hip, his lips finding the spot behind her ear. They were still frigid, but the rest of him was warmer — Tifa saw his coat and gloves lying in a wet heap on the floor in the hall. She was about to scold him when he presented her with a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. That’s when she remembered what Denzel and Marlene had said about him bringing her a surprise.

She took the gift from him, pleasure warming her cheeks. “Cloud, what is this?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Open it,” he murmured.

Curious, Tifa pulled on the twine and carefully removed the paper, wanting to save it for another use; Cloud chuckled in her ear. Inside were three small jars. She gasped.

“Cloud—”

She tried to turn around to face him, but he kept his arms tight around her. Tifa realized why when he began to speak, his voice low.

“My mom,” he started, and Tifa’s heart immediately lodged itself in her throat. “She used to make this cake at Midwinter. I never thought about it until I delivered something to this one village. There was a shop that sold spices, and I just...” She felt him swallow; tears pricked at her eyes. She knew exactly which cake he meant. Her mother had also made one every Midwinter. It was tradition. Memories crashed over her like waves.

“She was always so happy when she made it,” he went on, and his voice was even lower than before, rough with emotion. “I want to see you that happy.”

The tears spilled over. A choked sob broke free of her mouth; she bit down on her lip to stifle it and pressed the jars of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves to her chest. Cloud held her tight against him, his face buried in her neck. It might have been the ice melting in his hair, but she felt something wet on his cheeks.

 _It’s only spices_ , she thought as they stood there, swaying gently in the current of their shared past. But his gift was more than that. The jars were full of more than warm scents and sweet tastes. He’d brought her memories — bittersweet with remembrance and loss, but beautiful, too. There was a promise inside each one. _We’re a family_ , they whispered. _We’re a home._ Cloud wanted them to make more memories. He wanted them to be happy.

She _was_ happy. Happier than she’d ever been in her entire life.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

And Cloud just held her as the Midwinter night grew long and dark.

* * *

The kids bounced around the kitchen, buzzed on the sugar from hot cocoa and marshmallows. Cloud and Tifa had long since given up trying to get them to settle down. It was a holiday, they reasoned. They could be hyper just this once.

Tifa had set them to work carefully grating the cinnamon sticks and cloves and nutmeg to a fine powder, and their giggles filled the room alongside the scent of warm spices. She showed them how to carefully measure it and add it to the bowl of flour and baking soda; when some of it flew out of the bowl, she threw her head back and laughed.

The blizzard raged outside, but inside, the heat of the oven filled their home with warmth. Tifa held the spoon out to the kids to taste-test the batter once it was mixed. They squealed in delight at how good it was. When she brought the spoon to Cloud, she was grinning, her cheeks flushed, her chocolate-cherry eyes sparkling. The cake batter was perfect, just like he remembered; he kissed her laughing mouth, too overcome with all of it to speak. She kissed him back like she knew exactly how he felt.

He’d been right, Cloud thought as he watched Tifa supervise the pouring of the batter into the domed cake pan, her laughter filling every broken crack in him with light. She was absolutely beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> The inspiration for the spice cake in this fic is a spiced apple cake that my mom taught me to make was I was younger, and that I now make for the winter holidays. It is very dark and very spicy, and now that I'm a 'grown up' I like to splurge on whole spices sometimes. 
> 
> Come scream at me on [tumblr](https://kotaface.tumblr.com/) or [twitter.](https://twitter.com/kotaface027)


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